


The Fisherman's Revolt(1647)

by AGN



Series: Nine Centuries [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Almost Kiss, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Denial of Feelings, Emotionally Repressed, Historical, Historical Hetalia, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt No Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Longing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Politics, Religious Guilt, Repression, Romance, Romano is so in the closset he is about to find Narnia, Romano-centric, Sexual Repression, he is totally smitten though, very angry Spain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-05-13 06:30:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14743721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGN/pseuds/AGN
Summary: 1647, Naples and Romano are up in arms against a new tax policy by the king of Spain. It is not a revolt against Spain though. Nothing can make Romano want to leave the home of his beloved boss! Unless it turns out to be the best for said boss...Damn it, Spain! I-It was never meant to end this way!





	1. The Uprising

The Fisherman's Revolt (1647-1648)AD

 

 

"Who did it?!"

"But Sir-!"

"I asked who did it!"

He wasn't nearly as tall as he wanted to be a fifteen, but his voice was now low and still when he yelled, with no more random cracking. By God he was going to use that! Romano could feel the blood in his hands. Antonio's people. The Viceroy's guards. He knew they were innocent. They had held back even until it was too late for them. They were innocent. The orders came from the Viceroy. From Antonio's king.

(Your king) the voice in his head reminded him.

Romano clenched his teeth and shook his head. His stomach clenched. Yes, his king too. They were in a dynastic union after all *.

Still, he was not like Spain. He was not terminally loyal to his king. Antonio might continue being loyal to kings who were hurting him and using him as a toy, even if he knew that's exactly what was happening. But Romano? Hell no! He had not lived in union with Spain long enough to pick up that idiot's idea of honour! He had no identity problems to compensate for, he was a Roman damn it! He understood that rulers were meant to serve him!

The blood of the guards he had not touched stung on his hands. The blood of his people, killed by the Spaniards in defence still stained his shoes. Two men were pushed forward. The rushed speech of the rebels identified them as the ones who had caused the riot and started the violence that they had managed to control only by a miracle. Convicts caught looting. Bastards. Cowards. Didn't care about the cause. This made things way easier.

Romano looked at Masaniello, his human leader and best friend for the last week. The young man in his fisherman's clothes that was sitting by him on the edge of the window. He had managed to contain the growing turmoil and get things under control again, more or less. Masaniello nodded at him, giving him the lead.

"Execute them-" Romano stated, flatly "-Them, and anyone who tries to instigates disorder again."

The image of Spain kneeling in front of his king came to mind, sending both his conscience and his hormones into a riot. He closed his eyes.

' and anyone who tries to hurt him again.' Is what he meant

He closed his fists tentatively as if he were trying to feel them again. Antonio's guards had not attacked his revolutionaries or him when they first arrived at the gates of the city, even though it was clear that they were going to create problems. That is what angry mobs of peasants tend to do, right? Still, they had not moved until they the intruders did something openly hostile, like trying to murder them. Romano felt dirty. His spotless hands felt sticky with blood and guilt. But once the first head rolled to the ground, the terrible feeling finally abandoned him.

Masaniello, in his fisherman clothes, calmed the masses around him. "Excitable" Romano's people were called in Madrid. Romano gazed at the young man with a hint of affection. That young man understood his heart better and had more common sense than all their politicians combined. They were not germans; they were Romans. They were not going to accept unacceptable conditions. Conditions that might come from the king. A king that had taken more than a few questionable decisions. A king that represented what he and Spain had fought for together. A king that kept Antonio tied to him under the same crown, not that he thought that the Spaniard would completely ignore him otherwise, but why risk it?.

(Isn't that what you want? For him to ignore you?)

He jumped to his feet and screamed:

 

"Viva 'o Rre 'e Spagna! Mora 'o malgoverno!" (Long live the King of Spain! Death to the bad government!)

 

Long live the king of Spain, who was his, who kept him and Spain together, because there was no way on Earth he would ever support any revolt that didn't make that point clear! Whoever wanted to rise against the king, or as much as suggested he should leave Spain's house was fucking death! He wasn't leaving that bastard! He would never! He could if he wanted, but he had some sense of loyalty, dammit all!

He screamed louder, hoping that his voice could reach the bastard he had not seen in far too long. Masaniello screamed with him, and his farmers chanted back the words that had brought them there from outside the city.

 

***

 

The people of Napoli were now barricaded in their homes. The murmurs about disorders had grown since the guards were out of sight. Lovino didn't expect his people to behave like this against their own, but Masaniello had managed to calm them down somewhat; the cardinal had mediated between them and the viceroy to help everybody. This was almost over. He jumped off the horse and walked after his human companions towards the gates of the castle where the viceroy had taken refuge. Now it was just a matter of keeping his head clear. He had to keep his priorities straight and end it as soon as possible. This was about taxes—nothing personal.  
As soon as the heavy door of the castle was opened, Romano left everyone behind and pulled Rodrigo Ponce de León y Álvarez de Toledo, Duke of Arcos, Grande of Spain, and one of the most powerful motherfuckers in the globe, down by the neck of his shirt. He pressed his nose against the bastard's while he screamed right in his face, ready to yell that moustache out of his stupid face.  
"Where is Spain?! Does the King know about any of this?! Does Antonio know?!"  
(Yeah, because while you are fighting to abolish a tax, whether Antonio knew about it is priority number one. What a way keep priorities straight) the voice in his head mocked  
'Shut up'.  But it was right. He was red with fury and couldn't even pretend that taxes were the reason. Helping his peasants was more important than knowing if Antonio was involved in this right now. He had to reconduct the subject.  
"Were those direct orders? Does he know? Answer me Goddammit! Answer me, or I swear I'll kill you right here!"  
"T-they were not! The king only said that… " Romano stopped listening right there.  
They were not.  
He let the man go and stepped aside, relief shaking through his system so much that it was shameful. As Rodrigo Ponce kept going on about probably what parts of it all were requisites to follow the king's policies and which ones were not, and the reasons for his decision and the complexities of it all, he just drifted on with a sense of relief from the anguish that had been killing him for almost a month. Antonio—Spain, had not ordered this.  
Masaniello, who had been listening, pulled him back gently and stepped forward, ready to address the issues with the viceroy. Romano stepped back, removing himself from the scene, and fell into a chair, boneless. In his ears, the roar of the population that was about to discover the joys of looting cities, along with the fear of the humble inhabitants of Naples was deafening, but he could not afford to feel any of that right now. He would pay attention to the conversation. Just in a bit. He was only taking some moments to breathe, until the room to stopped spinning.  
This was a revolt about food and taxes. It wasn't about Spain. Spain had not betrayed him. He had not tried to exploit him, not at all; it was all a misunderstanding—human ambition; something perfectly explainable! It had never been a revolt against Spain, and it didn't have to be: just like he thought! And thanks to all saints in the heaven, because, God help him, Romano could not revolt against Spain. Not against the person who made him laugh every single time he tried to, not against that goddammed smile and that smug attitude. A part of him feared that he wouldn't be able to revolt even if one day he had to. But that day wasn't it! Right now he was so relieved to hear that Spain didn't know about this that the room was spinning faster instead of slowing down.

 In front of him, Rodrigo Ponce explained from behind an exuberant white moustache and a bonny nose of magnificent proportions his concerns about redistributing the tax load. It turns out that the Viceroy wanted to take it from the far too wealthy and unburdened Italian high class, but couldn't because they were ...well, rich and too powerful. Masaniello ensured that, if his conditions were met, he would keep things calm. In the meantime, nobilities of both sides were making a point out of being as difficult as possible, while in the background, Romano's revolted commoners and Antonio's guards were chatting each other up, to kill time. The favoured subject of conversation seemed to be who was more of an asshole if Ponce or the Duke of Calabria. The competition was fierce, with each group defending their national candidate to the price of being more deserving of execution. Lovino couldn't help but smile, comforted by the background humming or that side chat.

By the end of the meeting,  Masaniello and Rodrigo Ponce had agreed on a more fair distribution of the tax burden. The tax on fruit, bread, and other food the lower class depended on had been abolished. Even the privileges of equal representation in the parliament than nobles and tax burden that Spain granted Naples a century ago and that viceroys and nobles had made disappear were restored. They had only to send a written copy to Madrid from the king to ratify and make it permanent. Lovino was in a cloud, and spied eagerly over the shoulder fo the scribe, observing with glittering eyes how everything was obtained and written down without too much of an argument and without anyone losing! Rodrigo offered the Italian leader a salary for his services helping with the transition as well as a gold chain as a reward for the services paid to the kingdom of Naples, but the fisherman rejected them. Masaniello waved it off modestly, saying that he did it only for his fellow peasants and fishermen, making Romano fill with pride.  He took a deep breath of the warm free air outside the castle. It was over. His people would be happy.

"Will Spain come to do it?" he found himself asking as he watched the letter for Madrid being waxed and sealed. "I mean, it seems it would be helpful, with all that has happened. For the unity of the Hispanic Monarchy and all," he tried to rationalize out loud as he left the document on the table. He did not want to see Spain; he had run away from Madrid because he couldn't take seeing him hurt, or seeing him smiling at him, or seeing him in his dreams touching him like... He couldn't see him! God not if his mind went to those places every time he just thought about him! But after so long he could bare not to see him even less. Cardinal Filomarino smiled at him with affection.  
"I'll write to the front and encourage him to."  
  
'Wait, front? Like, in war front? Still? Where-No! Romano, focus! Good things! Not wars! Good things! You have just fixed a century-old problem for both of you! It is over! Spain is going to be so proud of you! He is going to be so damned impressed! Just imagine!"

And he did, despite himself, he imagined Spain's proud eyes glittering as they looked at him with adoration. The image made his heart flutter and his chest swell with so much joy he couldn't care anymore about how correct the feeling was. Those eyes from his imagination were enough to make him forget everything else. As he walked out surrounded by Spanish soldiers and Italian rebels that were already making plans to play dice after mass Romano grinned at the sky, walking on clouds whiter than those he saw above. Masaniello patted his back and Romano half hug the man, Italian style, and fuck it all because he was just so relieved and happy!

" We did it, Two Sicilies" the young fisherman laughed, hugging his young nation warmly  
"we did it, Godammit Massi, we fucking did it!"

He had a leader, Ponce had someone controlling the nobles for him, and Romano had done the first good thing maybe in his life, and had done it for him. Maybe Romano wasn't so useless anymore! Everything was going well and Romano allowed himself, for once, to believe it. Back home, the people of Naples elected Masaniello the Captain of the People and the Viceroy Ponce made the title official! The Viceroy gave him control over the city guard "in case he might need it". He was invested and everything! The ceremony happened in the balcony of the Viceroy's palace, with everyone cheering from the street. Masaniello gave a speech and finished it with "Long live the king of Spain". Romano was over the moon. Only Jenovese was still a bit...unsure.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Jenovese, the good priest that whispered to Romano while the people cheered their new captain.   
"Why wouldn't it?"  
"Well. Now that he has been given an official rule, he will be more connected to you. He is a good man but he is..excitable. Aren't you worried that a mental connection with a nation will be too much?" Romano waved it off, refusing to give away one of his few and precious moments of true happiness just to worry about stupid superstitions. The people adored his leader, he adored his leader. Dammit! Even the Spaniards adored his leader, he was sure! What could possibly go wrong?

A lot, it turns out.

It all started with an assassination attempt right before the entire thing became official. Romano found himself knee deep in blood, dagger in hand and making good use of the drillsSpain taught him in his grandfather's sunny patio in Rome, and that he didn't even know he remembered. Judging by the blood dripping down to his elbow, the shaking priest by him, and the retreating shapes in the wilderness, he did remember the drills, quite well. Jenovese, scared, exclaimed that it had to be a Spanish trick and that words got Romano blind with fury because they were false. He found himself running after the bandits along with his soldiers, a fury he had no clue he possessed blinding him to the world as he fell over another boy of about his age. The kid turned and tried to kill Romano, but the nation was faster. Romano was too scared and hurt to even think, all he knew was that it was a trick.  After the fight was over and the assault ants were all dead or captured it was time to identify them. They turned out to be mercenaries, trying to pass by Spanish soldiers with not even the right clothing. Of course, Romano knew from the start, but now he could make Jenovese and all his shit-talking morons see too! " How did you know?" The priest asked in wonder. Romano spat to the side, bitterly. " I just knew. Spain doesn't behave like that. It's not his style." That was true, but he also know a Spanish accent sounds like. He hears it in his fucking dreams, whispering loving things in his ear every fucking night! The one that told him that he wanted him with such sweetness in the voice that made Romano cry, knowing even in the dream that it wasn't real and he'd have to wake up. He-he would recognize it anywhere fuck it! And know that he had been proven right it was time to work.

Romano didn't need more than two days to track the gold of the mercenaries' purses down. He may have used some enhanced interrogation techniques to speed things up. Whatever. Fuck it. This was important! It led him straight to the Duke of Maddaloni, and his brother. They were both old political rivals of Ponce. They had been trying to get more power in the court for years. Now they had risked killing his leader and throwing him into total civil chaos just to blame Ponce of something he didn't do- and then what? Take charge themselves? As a man ( or close enough) Lovino was furious, but as a nation Romano felt betrayed and enraged beyond proportion. Greedy motherfuckers! Romano got the duke's men that same night. He and some others fell on them like hawks and caught them all hands dirty with letters about the success of their plan. Romano saw only red, his hurt and rahe didn't subside until he heard the sweet, sweet noise of traitor's heads rolling. He should be sorry? Fuck it, he did not regret a thing. People were happy with the death of the traitors, all of them, they had chanted " Viva Masaniello, Viva the king!" again, and Romano had managed to push some air in his lungs again, as he felt this new blood washing the previous one off his hands. But as Masaniello started to get terrified and see enemies everywhere. He started executing people a little too easy. His followers started to feel less happy with his leadership. And as rumours grew and plots were caught forming in the darkness Romano realized that he had not given nearly enough thought to the fight his own high class was going to put up against the redistribution of tax and the equal representation of commons and nobles in court. 

Less than two days after the attempted murder Romano learned how terribly naive he had been. The deformed story of what had happened with the mercenaries spread like a plague, no matter how little sense it made, and even if Masaniello gave the true version, paranoia was already setting root. Romano could only clench his teeth, swear that if he got the source of the rumours he would murder it, and pray for Spain to show up soon. He needed the bastard, his boss, his friend, his lover in dreams, to put order here again as he did. Just the shadow of his halberd and everyone would go back to their place. But Romano knew it would take weeks for Spain to come. And that was not even the beginning of what was going wrong.

While people on the streets were wondering if Antonio had done things he clearly had not, people near Masaniello saw the man spiral down after the attempted assassination- or maybe since he raised to the power. They all saw his new tendency to execute, his growing paranoia and...well...they began to...wonder...if...maybe...They were starting to whisper that Masianello had gone crazy.

But people don't just go crazy one day out of the blue at 24! Romano was sure of that! They were just exaggerating!

 

***

 

Everything was alright!

For example, that evening, Romano was very tense in his seat in the corner of Masaniello's house, but he was tense only because all those assholes arguing were giving him a headache! He did not fear that the fisherman had lost his mind. They were all exaggerating. True, Masi was a little more guarded than usual. True, he was getting a tendency to execute suspects of treason, but by all God, the man had almost been killed twice! And it was not like he was going to become his new king or anything! It was only temporary. Only that.

" It is Jenovese! He is poisoning him!" One of the haymakers closest to the dear revolutionary leader exclaimed, waving hands everywhere "He tried to instigate against Spain and now he is terrified of what's gonna happen to him! he is trying to take us all down!"

" He is a good man! He is a priest!" a farm labourer retorted, horrified. The haymaker rolled eyes and waved his hands even more wildly in the air.

"Since when do those two go together?"

"Besides he has no reason to be afraid! We are all forgiven, you heard the Viceroy!"

" Jenovese is a traitor that tried to turn us against the king, and thank God Masaniello sent him to hell, where he belongs!" a humble scribe insisted, as desperate as Romano felt.

"I tell you it's the Spaniards." a fourth voice yelled from the kitchen, Romano felt like slapping an idiot "They are buying time. They are drugging him somehow!" the screams filtered through the wooden floors to fill the entire house. The light of the morning had been colouring the living room for a long time now.

"Do you think I'm an idiot, Gianni? I would have noticed! I check all his food!" the haymaker growled

" Well, how do you explain this?" the voice yelled from the dark hall

"I don't know! But it isn't them! They want this even more than we do!".

The anonymous screamer started another of his sentences but Romano snapped and spoke over him. He couldn't hear that idiot once more time or he was going to murder somebody!

" Well, if it isn' them, then how do you exp-"

"Do you even know who you are talking about, you idiots? It is the fucking Spanish Empire! If he wanted us dead our head would be rolling a meter in front of our necks already!" the nation barked, stunning everyone into silence, or hoping to do so " Trust me, if Spain is mad, we will know and there will be no doubt about it! So stop worrying dammit! Masaniello is fine! He is just sick of listening to you!"

He managed to create silence, indeed, but not the type he hoped for. The three humans were looking at each other oddly, and then at him. Romano straightened his back and kept his head high, determined to stand his ground and ignore the cold sweat sliding down under his shirt.

" W-well, Lovino..." the haymaker tried, tentatively " I wouldn't say that he is alright".

" He is just a little nervous!" Romano dismissed, a bit too quickly and a bit too out of pitch. " He had survived an assassination attempt by the Italian Dukes. Who wouldn't be a little over suspicious?

" Lovino, he isn't a bit nervous, he is going batshit crazy."

"He is just getting a bit harsh with the penalties! We opened the prisons on the first day because we are complete idiots, and now we have that to deal with! He isn't even killing anyone who wasn't a convict before!" hopefully.

" Lovino..." The scribe mumbled in a voice that made Romano want to slap him across the face. This getting to his nerves. Everything was fine, Fine!

"Okay! Alright! Power is getting a bit to his head! He calls his wife Countess. So what? He loves her. He always wanted to give her nice things, dammit, and now he can! She has suffered and risked a lot too! It isn't a crime! Anyone can understand that a man under pressure may indulge a little bit! I also would!"

"Lovino" stated the farmer, done with this shit " He wants to turn the market square of Naples into a port."

Death silence comes, as three pairs of eyes dared Lovino to go ahead and find an excuse to that. Romano squirmed in the seat as if he had a million ants under his clothes. He had no idea of what expression to put, as a nervous smile and a menacing scowl and a menacing glare took over bits and pieces of his face in an uncoordinated way. His sweat was more profuse, and colder.

Okay, so, a bit of delirium. It was an isolated episode of craziness. It was understandable. Yes, it was. That is exactly what he would say.

He opened his mouth to deliver his very reasonable speech, but his human companions were faster and merciless, putting him under rapid fire. If they only knew that Romano saw far more than they did in those words..!

"He wants to build a palace big enough to bring the entire Spanish Court here!"

" He leaves in the middle of the night to jump into the sea and starts swimming west! If we had not caught him he'd have drowned already!"

' fuck, if they knew how many times Romano had wished he could do that...wait, that-that doesn't mean he is the cause! Right?.'

Romano was starting to shrink in place. His breath was so shallow he couldn't feel it.

"He talks about moving the king of Spain here!"

"well, I..."

"He wants to build a bridge between Spain an Naples!"

" Yeah! Dude, sit on that for a bit! Where has he gotten such an insane idea?"  
" That's nuts, Lovino you must accept that much!"

Romano's face caught fire. He darted out of the living room and straight to his own room upstairs.

No way he was infecting his leaders with his twisted sins or anything. No wa-They could read his escape however He was a nation under revolution, after all. he got to be unpredictable. Fuck fuck fuck fuck it all! He jumped on his bed, face down. He bit the pillow.  From the closed window the numerous cries told him that Masaniello was addressing them from the balcony.

 

"Viva 'o Rre 'e Spagna! Mora 'o malgoverno!" they chanted.

 

  
The air had become solid around him and refused to be breathed. He was being silly. It was just a coincidence. It had nothing to do with him. Nothing at all. It was the rise to power. It was...it was anything but him. It's not that his thoughts were filtering to Masiello or anything. Masaniello was fine. Romano wasn't contagious. He would fix himself for Spain, and everything would be alright again. He broke crying against the pillow. God! He missed the bastard! He missed him! He missed him so damn much he couldn't breath(e), he couldn't leave the bed most days. He couldn't dream of anything else!

 

"Viva Masaniello! Viva Pedro Ponce! Viva 'o Rre 'e Spagna!" 

 

  
It was Lovino who had decided to move away from Madrid. He had to! Every time Antonio had touched him his skin burst into flames. He was hyperaware of everything Antonio did, how he moved, so elegant and proud, how his legs didn't seem to end in this century, how strong his body was, every tweak and movement of his mouth. Just looking at his lips part to speak send all his blood south and his thoughts to the most sinful places. The man's faint smell got Romano's mind spinning. If Antonio was anywhere in the room he couldn't think of anything else. Just a hug, or a friendly wink of an eye, and Romano couldn't eat the rest of the day, too busy drowning in his own saliva and puking butterflies. This wasn't new. Antonio had always turned him this way. Even when they were little and spent their nights together watching the moon over Rome. On those nights Lovino felt like he could reach the stars as long as his friend was near. He would sneak out of his own room and into Antonio's bed every night too, just to have the pleasure of sleeping wrapped in Toni's arms and under a shower of good night kisses. He'd be so offended and sad if he didn't get kisses at night! And the goddamned Antonio knew it and teased him about it some nights! Lovino would always turn red then and try to make himself leave, but not find the strength to actually do so, and Antonio would always stop his teasing before it hurt and hug him tight and give him double as many kisses on the forehead, and then Lovino would be so blissed out of his mind that the embarrassment of wanting them would go away. He loved those little kisses on his forehead, they made him feel like he was the king of the world. They still made him feel that way, but back then it was pure. Back then all he wanted was to stay there and receive that love forever, he had no need to grab the Spaniards head and force it to turn from his cheeks to his mouth, and slide his tongue right through those Leo's while holding Antonio in place, and- God! Why couldn't he go back? Back to the time when his love was free of- of the darkness, the lust, the desire to rip Antonio's clothes open and just grind his hips against him like a damn cat in heat! To toss Spain's shirt aside and cover every inch of that body in saliva and greedy kisses. Mary! He couldn't think about doing such a humiliating thing to someone he respected so much! It was disgusting! But he also couldn't think about anything else. He was revolted by his desires. Wanting that...it wasn't normal. But he wanted it! He wanted it so goddam bad! He wanted and wanted and it was driving him mad! The terrible burning and disgusting impulses started a little before his voice started to crack and his height shot up. It only got worse from there. Worse and worse. Hotter and hotter sweat fell down his neck when he looked at his boss, when he thought about him at night and repeated that two or three years wasn't such a big difference. The priests told him it was normal to feel that way. His body was fifteen human years for God's sake! They said he should do what he could to control it and understand the urge would calm down with age. But they-they didn't know all of it! They didn't know who Romano desired. And...and... And it would never end because he loved Antonio! He had since he could remember!That made it even more wrong! But also it made it...feel so right. Antonio deserved all love and Romano couldn't...He couldn't want to not love him. He had loved him so long that what else could he do?  
So he had to run away from Madrid. What choice did he have? Even when Spain didn't touch him, because he demanded he did not, Spain still-existed! His cheekbones could cut through goddamned glass, his voice got Romano to shake from head to toes, throaty and rolling, and when Antonio came from battle, which was all the bloody time, with his throat dry with gunpowder and his voice coarse and raw, Romano had to almost tie himself to a chair. He was burning with lust every damn minute he was near him. He wanted it from Spain, and he'd never get it. He'd never allow himself to get it. He'd never allow himself to drag Spain down to his level even if for some dark miracle he could. Besides, he was scared. What if someone found out? What if his henchman's filthy desires somehow reflected poorly on Spain's reputation? What if Spain found out? That man saw right through him in every aspect but that one, and by God sometimes Romano felt that he knew that too and the mere idea of Antonio knowing threw him into such a panic he couldn't breathe. He run. He moved to Naples, to save them both. It had worked, right? Antonio probably thought that Romano didn't want him close. Besides, Spain was too busy to spend time with such a useless brat. Romano was also better off away from him, he had not been subjected to the excruciating exercises in self-control that were meetings with Spain in years. He had not dug his nails into his palm until they bleed, and then some, to keep himself composed, or needed a melting lake to calm his body after just a friendly walk with his friend, or a casual hug.  
"But I miss him," he whined.

How pathetic was that? He was complaining to God. And from all the things he had to complain about— his revolution was about to fail, his King was about to take the entire thing who knows how, his people were under the leadership of a madman whose's madness Romano may have caused with his own sickness, the city was looted and in chaos-and he complained about not being allowed to screw his childhood friend into the mattress. What kind of personification was he?

" But I miss him...so much"

He tried to hate himself for being selfish, and he failed to even do that. He understood too well how much it hurt, and for how long, and how hard he had tried. He couldn't even feel truly selfish, he could only feel like a failure, useless and weak. And so, so sick and twisted.

The turmoil of emotions and the maze in his mind drained his last shreds of energy. He fell asleep and dreamed about a bridge, just as he always did. A bridge between Spain and Naples. He was walking on the wooden road held in place by two strings of white-sailed ships. Antonio was waiting for him in the middle, smile wide and easy, eyes glowing with joy at seeing him. He was not a long-legged child anymore, but an adult with a body to die for, who hugged him by the waist and kissed him soft and deep. Romano found his hands and held them tight, rising on his tiptoes to deepen the kiss, to show his lover how desperately he wanted—loved him. Antonio moaned into the kiss, softly, and slid his hands under Romano's pants, grabbing at his bottom and pulling him roughly against his hip.   
He woke up, hard and sweaty, grinding against the sheets and with the feeling of fabric on his lips. Everything was going to hell. He thought that he could do something right for once, but of course, he couldn't.  Now when Spain came to Naples he was not going to find something to be proud of, but another one of the stupid Italian brat's messes he now had to clean. Romano spent the rest of the morning crying into his pillow about too many things to count.

He couldn't be loyal to Spain as a friend, or as a person-God, if Spain only knew the things Romano did when he thought about him!-but he could be loyal to him as a nation. Spain knew that Romano was loyal, right? He would not take the whole taxes revolt the wrong way. It was Spain after all! He was always patient and understanding!.  

***

Meanwhile, in Madrid:

" My Lord! We have important news from Naples." The chamberlain hesitated for a second "Bad news I'm afraid"  
Antonio looked up from his writing, eyes glowing dangerously. He had just come from the battleline, had wounds still open, and was running the worse fever he remembered in centuries. He was in no mood to take shit from anyone, Romano included.

"I'm listening."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter Antonio will show up in Italy! Please let me know if you want more or fewer historical detail. It is always a struggle to adjust that!
> 
> Notes!  
> *Romano never was "a colony" or "a territory" of Spain. Romano was a separate kingdom (two actually) under the same crown (inherited by the same king) than Spain. So they shared a king but were legally and factually independent from eachother at all times.  
> *I took some liberties, but the general idea and most details like the chants, the people involved, and their opinions, are accurate to the best of my ability. Masianello's deliriums were also reported, including the bridge between Naples and Spain!( If the reports are true or rumors nobody knows)  
> Sources: "La Storia di Napoli vol. II" by Vittorio Gleijeses (In Italian) and a lot of Internet.  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When an army breaks lines, all the soldiers can do to survive is to turn around and return to the flag, in order to regroup there. Romano finds himself in that situation when his invisible enemies deploy a weapon that he was not expecting. Rumors. Will it be too late to return to Spain's flag thought?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings!  
> -Homophobic language. Romano uses the f** word. A lot of it.  
> -This has been finished for a long time, but my beta has been bussy this summer; I´m posting it but it ha,s literally, been beta-ed only half way, and English isn´t my first language, so...It may start sounding weird in the middle of it. Since she may be bussy for a long time, please let me know if the grammar is too bad and is worth waiting until she has time to help me out again, or if it is readable and is better if I just go ahead and post without beta- :)

Tornare a sicuro

 

 _“I_ _n_ _those_ _days_ _sacking_ _was_ _prevalent_ _,_ _so_ _much_ _so_ _that_ _the_ _screams_ _of_ _“_ _die_ _,_ _die_ _”(_ _Masaniello_ _)_ _could_ _be_ _heard_ _everywhere_ _._ _The_ _disorder_ _was_ _such_ _in_ _those_ _days_ _that_ _Naples_ _looked_ _like_ _a_ _gigantic_ _fireplace_ _,_ _by_ _how_ _many_ _buildings_ _burned_ _.”-_ _LaFuente_ _._ _General_ _History_ _Vol_ _12_ _PP_ _32_  


 

Madrid:

 

" My Lord! We have important news from Naples” —the chamberlain hesitated for a second— “bad news, I'm afraid."

“I’m listening. What does Two Sicilies want now?” the nation answered answered, voice deceivingly calm.” The chamberlain hesitated. The air around Carriedo was thick and electric. He didn’t know that Carriedo was a nation, but looking in those intense green eyes that shone with the edge of a million bayonets, he knew the teen could not be human.

He swallowed thickly.

“They say that taxes are too high”

“And are they?” Carriedo asked.

“Yes,” one of the ministers cut in, before the chamberlain had the chance to intervene. Of course, that caused an immediate argument among the rest of the ministers that were gathered at Carriedo’s back. The Castilian representatives were especially furious after paying more men and gold than any other kingdom for the defense of the entire crown. King Philip IV sighed heavily and looked out the window while Olivares and the rest argued. Antonio let the argument fade into background noise. He extended his hand, steady and so deceivingly relaxed towards the human, asking for the letter from the viceroy he clearly was carrying.

The chamberlain complied, relieved when Carriedo’s too-alive-eyes went on the paper instead of on dissecting his soul. The poor man found his voice again.

“They say that the distribution of the burden isn’t fair.”

“And is it?”

“ No,” the Chamberlain conceded, “but that is by their own design. They won’t let us touch their medieval laws—we’ve tried.”

“I am aware of that,” Hell, he was so aware indeed! He had been arguing with Romano about that for over a hundred years! But the kid was too suspicious of any foreign intervention and would kick and scream at any attempt by Antonio to change a thing in his land. At the end of the day, Antonio couldn't force him; Lovino was his own kingdom.

Antonio meditated for a long time, eyes on the paper. Finally, he rolled the paper back again.

“This is a domestic issue. Let Lovino solve it by himself.”

“You must be kidding!” Olivares and the chamberlain exclaimed at once. Antonio glared a hole into both of their heads, making the chamberlain step back. Count Olivares, on the other hand, was a main of character and held his glare.

“We must send troops immediately,” he stated.

“No,” Antonio stated flatly, leaving no room for argument "I know Romano. He is an excitable nation, but he is not a traitor.”

“Spain, this will be seen as weakness; it will paint a target right in our asses for all Europe.”

“ Just give him time to process things his way and he will come around—he always does.”

The minister and Chamberlain were no longer looking at Carriedo, they now looked past him and straight to the king, who looked exhausted and far too old for his years. With a sigh, Philip turned, and after examining the urging eyes of all his trusted advisers, set eyes on Spain. His nation looked back straight at him, his serene and amiable demeanour covering the intensity that burned in his eyes. Spain was really annoyed with his boss. He had been for a very long time now, and the king could see why. He knew that Spain was loyal—he had the patience of his mother—but he also had the temper of all the demons in hell lying right at the end of that endless patience and terminal sense of loyalty. It was something no one in his right mind wanted to see. He had been pushing Spain too far for years, he knew it. Did he want to risk finding out how much rope he had left?

 

Wisely, King Philip determined that he did not. He turned his face away from Carriedo’s eyes.

 

“We will not deploy troops.” A displeased human murmur filled the room, but that would have happened no matter what decision the king had taken. “They are not rebels; their rebellion is not against me. The Viceroy has not been put in danger. Let him handle it—it is his job”

 

The shadow of a smile rose over Spain’s polite features. The general buzz of rage and agreement that filled the room got lost to his ears. There qs discontent in the room, of course, but this was his court, there would be discontent at any decision whatsoever. A side effect of letting people speak.

 

“Anything else?”

 

“Filomarino has written a letter in the name of the rebe-of Two Sicilies,” the Chamberlain corrected himself, looking at the young green eyed man who gave him inexplicable shivers. Antonio smiled back, innocently but satisfied“Will you agree to their conditions, majesty?”

“If they can handle their own nobles, yes.”

 

***

Naples

 

But things were never that easy. Did Romano, or anybody, think that the Neapolitan nobles were going to be happy about the agreement and pay more? Heck no. They had hey had rubbed feathers in all the wrong ways and now Romano’s head was about to explode with internal turmoil. He had expected them to fight back, maybe even other nations to meddle in him—they always fucking did! But he had not expected… he had not expected this type of fight! This he had no idea how to counter.

The rumours spread quickly now, seemingly from every shadow and corner. Rumours about Masaniello madness. Jenovese already knew he had lost all control over him. Lovino held his breath. Things were going down just fine so far. They had the tax cut they wanted, but now people were mad at Masaniello because he was ordering executions everywhere. Merchants wanted him out. Nobles wanted him out. The people still loved him, but boy are rumours harmful!

They said that he was mad, that he bathed in gold, that he wanted to build a bridge—Romano’s face caught fire the instant he taught that. He kicked a rotten apple out of the way in the middle of the busy market square, because that rumour was true. When that wasn’t enough to turn people against him, they started to say something worse. Something that nobody in Naples could forgive in a leader.

Romano heard about it that evening for the first time, as he slid between a mule-powered chart and a fish stand. The voice carrying the news was sharp and nasal—enough to pierce through the fog in his mind and drag him from his swirling, dark thoughts. And once he was back in reality, listening, he realized that the words about it were everywhere. It was like waking up and finding yourself surrounded by enemy troops, without knowing how you made it there.

 

“He is a sodomite!” the fruit merchant who had dragged Romano’s attention back to the world repeated, imposing his powerful voice over the humming murmur that surrounded the market. The nation almost slipped and fell on a rotten orange. Stumbling and bumping into everyone, he managed to straighten up and look around, locating that voice among the buzzing chorus. There was a surprised squeak by an old page. The fruit merchant nodded enthusiastically. The old page looked to the sides, theatrically, as if everyone wasn’t saying the same thing anyway.

 

“What? You...are you sure?”

“ Yes!”

“Mother of God!”

“I am! Everyone knows it now!”

“ That can’t be right! He is a good man, he prays! And he is no coward!”

“Really? Have you seen him fight himself at all?”

Lovino gulped hard and found himself hiding against the wall of the fruits stand. His heart started racing with thoughts he was trying really, really hard to suppress.

“But… are you sure?”

“ Sure as death, my friend! Marco Vitale is his little lady. I know it from a good source.”

‘No’ Lovino refused in his head ‘That wasn't true... that… no, he knew that wasn’t true! Or it wasn’t when they first met, could he have somehow been contaminated? No, impossible.’

“Have you ever wondered why he has such a young secretary as him?”

“Madonna.” The merchant made a gesture to avoid ill eyes, just as the goths used to do, and then did the sign of the cross over himself just in case “What have we done?”

“I’m sure he will begin to demand rights on the kids of Naples—it’s only a matter of time!” Romano opened his mouth from his hiding place but had to snap it shut again.

“Sorry, gentlemen.” a random customer intervened “ I haven’t been to avoid listening to you. Is that true?”

“It is! We have just heard the same from someone who heard it from his wife!”

“Madonna Serenissima!”

Lovino ran off, back towards the viceroy’s house, tackling everyone in his way, head first, like a bull in a mad race to escape. He bit his lip, eyes stinging and cloudy. Why did he cry so much? Goddammit, why was he always crying? Why was he so weak?

(Because you are a fag, that is why.)

‘Shut up.’

(Oh! C’mon! It is a fact. You want to kiss Antonio. You dream of it! You cry all the time. Everyone is disgusted at how much you cry! Even you are!)

‘Shut up!’ but he was. He was a crybaby and a coward, that was known by everyone. He could put up a smug face. Oh! He was good at that! The king of being suave, but the moment an explosion rang in the distance he was behind Spain’s coat shivering, dwelling in his smell and just feeling safe, wishing he could-

‘Stop it.’

(It all fits.)

‘Stop it.’

(You want him. You want your boss to hold you in his big hands, maybe you even want to wear cute little panties for him and—)

‘SHUT UP!’

‘You are a moor. It should not be a surprise.”

 

Romano didn’t answer to the voice; he just kept running, trying to focus on the pain in his lungs. On anything! He had no words left to answer back to his own thoughts. Especially because he believed they were right as Lovino, and he also believed them as South Italy. As the rumor spread faster and faster throughout every corner of him, the murmur of his citizens filled his ears as he run, mixing with his own thoughts.

 

(He is a fag)

(You are a fag)

(That is worse than rape, for rape follows a natural instinct)

(He wants to build a bridge between Madrid and Naples)

(You want to build a bridge between Madrid and Naple,s You want Spain’s heart, You need it)

(Antonio’s hands on your him. His lips on your neck. Warm. It is so disgusting)(But you want it)

(I’d rather eat shit in the street than follow a leader that sleeps with men!) 

(Worse than bestiality, worse than incest, and worse than even sleeping with children!)

‘Shut up!’

(Children at least look like women! Do you remember that guy? Disgusting disgusting guy, had Antonio on his lap, spread his legs, and had that old, wrinkled hand moving up and down Antonio’s tight, getting into the leg of his pants. Toni was nine, and always so brave, but he looked so confused then, and about to cry. Antonio never cried, he was the bravest kid you knew.. Nobody did anything, just told him to behave. It felt so wrong to see. Do you remember? You threw the biggest tantrum, until they sent him to get you and he could escape. Remember that man, old wrinkled dirty hands? You are worse than him. What would Tony say if he knew?)

(We’d rather starve than been represented by a deviant like that!)

(The sodomy sin rots the soul; it is just a symptom of a disease, a deep disease)

(Tony burns priests who children, what won’t he do with you?)

 

He turned the corner, distracted, and slipped into a puddle. Cursing, he fell with his eyes closed like an) (insert something) into the slick mud of the streets before stumbling to stand up again. He willed the people who were chatting in the pathway to get out of his way.

He felt a small squeak on his lips, a weak protest.. It wasn't the same! It wasn't; Toni was older than him...then Lovino wanted an old guy?He-He was not the same, he knew, but of course he would say that himself! Didn’t that prove how rotten he was?

 

(And you are a coward. You can’t fight. You can only hide behind your big man like a little princess. You can’t even be used like a princess at that)

(You kill fags! Your people will kill you! They hate you! Even they are disgusted by you!)

(Let’s cut the fag’s head!)

(It all fits. You are a coward and a moor, and heretic, useless. That is why you always need protection, that is why you are a crybaby who hates fights.)

(He has protected you for centuries, and you can’t ever repay you.)

“SHUT UP!” he yelled as he slammed the door behind him.

(Parasite.)

  
(He can’ even use you like the princess that you are.)

 

He felt so disgusted at that thought, and still he knew it was true. Felicianoa nd Rome thought that such sin was a mark of Africans and heretics, and wasn't his blood mixed with African after all? His breath was cut. He was about to throw up on the polished stone tiles.

 

Genovino gave him an odd look from the table of the living room. The priest´s image came out watery to Lovino´s eyes. His chest was rising up and down as he pressed his back against the closed door of the house, hoping he could lock the voice in his head out.

He couldn't, of course. He couldn't lock his people´s thoughts either, they raced through his mind. People like “that” were supposed to be cowards, right? Well, he was one. And he was a crybaby. Even Spain's soldiers called Italians cowards. And he had Arab blood didn´t he? A type that he had not atoned for in the way Spain had through pain and blood. Didn't that explain everything? He wasn´t in love, he was just in lust, just like preaches said there can´t be love if you ahve the impulse to drag someone else into the filth with you. He was a ball of rage who couldn't love, a selfish, useless weakling that was always angry. He was what his half blood suggested he'd be*. What would his Christian people think if they knew how deep the-

 

“Are you okay?” Genovino´s voice brought him back to Earth. The man was estanding now, and looked at his nation with worry.

Lovino swallowed and nodded curtly, still not daring to lift up his face. The door wasn't doing the best job at keeping his own thoughts out of his head-who knew?-but at least it was keeping Romano vertical. He was in no hurry to lose that support.

“Yeah. Peachy.” He managed to croak, eyes still closed.

 

The sound of a chair and heavy steps forced him to step away from the door and pretend to have it all together before he´d liked to, but he didn´t want to make Genovino stand or worry. It wasn't worth it. The priest was a busy man. But as he looked up he saw those understanding, brown eyes of the old Italian, and felt himself go boneless. The priest, of course, saw right through him and his entire aloof act. That was his job, wasn't it?

 

“You don't seem to be alright.”

“Well, it has been a long day. And the heat is freaking hell. I´m a little dizzy.” He mumbled.

“I see. Do you need to talk though? About the heat.”

 

Romano felt tempted. He was determined to say no with his head, but the desperate need of kindness won over. Why not? Genoino was a kind, compassionate man. Maybe a bit too manipulative for comfort, but what alternative had a man like him to affect the world? His heart was in the right place, Lovino was sure. He took a deep breath and decided to trust him. God, he needed to get this out of his chest so bad!

 

“Maybe.”

“Sit here, kiddo. You look like you are about to faint.”

 

Romano walked to the old chair by the priest and collapsed on it. He opened his mouth a couple of times but no voice came out, anxiety and shyness getting the best of him, as usual. He dropped his head in his hands, exhausted. Communication was hard for him no matter how badly he needed to talk, and of course the poor human didn't have the power of mind reading. He was just staring at the pitiful excuse of a nation Romano was, unable to understand what was up.

 

(Antonio would understand, without you even talking.)the voice said ( He would know what to do.)

‘ Yes. He would. He always does’ Romano admitted, too exhausted to fight the truth anymore. 

(He would make you laugh.)

 

But Antonio was not there. He was not going to be there. Romano wouldn't allow him to be. Not yet.

 

“I was in the market.” He managed to push out of his mouth. He dropped his hands on the table and looked through the distant window, trying to sound casual about the entire thing and fool himself into relaxing. “ F*cking hot. And damn crowded. I think I got a heat stroke or something.”

 

The priest nodded and leaned some weight on the arm he had on the table. He looked calmed and ready to wait for a slong as necessary. He made you feel comfortable. He was good at his job, that is for sure. Lovino took a deep breath, hoping that some courage would be shucked into his lungs as well.

 

“People were gossiping. I hate gossip.”

“I understand. What were they talking about?”

“They were talking nonsense. They were-They were accusing Masaniello of horrible things! Those rumours are dangerous, so I-” He shook his head, trying to get the voices out of it. But he couldn't of course because the voices were him. “I'm worried, dammit!”

 

The priest nodded gravely and look at Lovino with sympathy.

 

“That is wise, Romano. I have heard the rumors too. If they spread they can really harm our cause.“ I understand there is some base to them. Massianello has been behaving estrange. Sudden power is hard for anyone to adjust to. I... I myself don’t know what I think about his last orders. He really doesn't seem to be the man that we-”

“NO!!” Romano snapped“ No, dammit! I-I mean, n-no, that is not what I meant.” Had he just cursed in front of a priest? Oh Lord!

The human didn’t look mad, just.just wide-eyed. Oh, God…

“I don't mean the-the rumours about he being crazy. I-I mean. That is not...Uhm. They were saying-saying other things. About him and-Damn! About him and Marco, that he-That they were saying that he-”

“That he takes advantage of Marco. Yes.” The priest finished for him. Romano blushed deeply.

“ I wouldn't say it is taking advantage, marco is my age...” Lovino found himself mumbling. He grew even redder, totally mortified by his moment of honesty. The poor priest was trying to help him, and to some extent succeeding but his presence made it feel like God and the Saints were all staring at him, and the more he tried to not be himself, the more his dirty desires came to mind.

“I have heard those rumors too.” The priest attempted to soothe him. “It was to be expected, really. It is what people say to get rid of political rivals. Those rumors are false. Masaniello has your nobles terrified, and lies are their defence. We have recovered equal representation from the king, they do not like that. This are just fabrications without base.” 

“They are everywhere.”

“Yeah, I know,. I won't lie, that would be a problem. Your people would never follow someone they believe to be a sodomite.”

“B-but.” Romano bit his tongue. God he wished he could confess so badly!

 

But he couldn't.

If he was a human, or if the priest didn't know who he was, he would confess in a heartbeat. He needed this weight off his chest, but Genovese was a patriot in addition to a priest, and this wouldn't be a man confessing to a weakness but a nation. His nation. That-that had to be different. He could let God know. But his people?

The man patted his back to reassure him.

 

“Do you fear that the rumours could be true?”

 

Fear? No. Deep down he wished they were, desperately. He wished to find someone like him he could talk to. He needed to talk to someone. He was losing his mind. He had lost his best friend. He was about to lose everything.

 

“Yeah. I-I worry about that.” The priest smiled kindly.

“Don´t. I´m positive it is all false.”

 

Romano nodded, his last hope of finding someone like himself he could openly talk to vanishing in thin air. He felt empty and more alone than ever. The good priest interpreted his silence completely wrong and patted his shoulder affectionately. Lovino covered his face again, praying to not start crying right there.

 

“How do you know?”

“Because Masaniello is not a monster, Romano. I´ve known him for a long time. He is eccentric, he has always been, but he is no coward, no heretic, and sure as heaven he is not immoral. He would never do something like that.”

 

And the voice came so honestly and well-intentioned it cut right through the nation´s heart. Romano felt like he was about to lose it for the third time in a day. He tensed his shoulders, to keep his hands from trying to claw into his skull, grip his brain and tear it to bits, so he never had to think, to realize, to understand what he was anymore.

 

“Maybe you should rest. You have a good heart and seeing the deceptiveness of the peoples obviously upsets you.”

A good heart. Yeah. If he knew. If he only knew…

He nodded and mumbled a loose goodbye as he headed to his room. There, he collapsed on the bed, biting his lip and trying to focus on something else. How could he be so self centered? His people had food now, wasn't that good?

Well, it also meant that meant they no longer cared for the man who gave it to them, they had time to gossip, and judge, and make it clear that there was not enough good anyone could to compensate for that.

In the next days he could barely make himself leave the house, even though his people needed him. He was too afraid to hear with his ears in addition to his mind the things the rumor made people say, and the times he did go out he wished that he had not. A little part of him remembered well where this had all came from and hated his brother with all his heart*. That only made him feel even more disgusted at himself.

 

Sometimes, Romano played with the idea of sending it all to hell, including himself, and at least confess his sins to someone, ask for help, get this out of his chest, but he couldn't take the hate of his people. Worse, he couldn't risk the international community dragging Spain into this mess. They were both friends, if Romano confessed of being so twisted, the shit explosion would splash Spain’s reputation down by association, even if the man had nothing to do with it. He couldn't allow that, especially not now. He was ready to take the hate himself, the ostracism, it couldn't be worse than wrestling with this hell alone, but there was no way he could risk dragging Spain's reputation down with him. He was already seeing what this rumours could do to a man, let alone a nation, let alone an Empire.

Romano sighed. He knew-rationally-that what he felt for his friend was nothing but lust. It had to be lust, his theologians said so. However, it felt like love. It really really did.

 

*** 

Another day went by. The lies and murmurations were not helping Masaniello mental stability, but Romano and his shrinking crowd of partidaries held on to hope for dear life. On the next day the cardinal read the privileges of equal representation with the nobles granted to the population of Naples by the king, and the restitution of the equal tax burden among social classes. The people cheered and Romano breathed in relief. Everyone got what they wanted, both Romano and Spain. That should have calmed down things, right? That was perfect, that was finally the end of this mess.

Except that it wasn´t. Everyone was happy, except the formerly privileged, of course. The rumors about Masaniello became worse. He was insane, a sodomite, a pervert, an heretic, a spy of Spain, of Turkey, of God knows what else; the king of Spain was going to jail everyone and take over directly, or he was going to abandon them to the Turks and the saracens, or he was going to change all their laws and dissolve their parliament, all within the same hour. People was confused, drawing on lies, and scared. Riots and looting broke. They had been a problem before but now the opportunists and the desperate went totally out of control.  Masaniello couldn't control them anymore, they wouldn't listen. He had the loyalty of the Spanish troops and the viceroy, but even they were hesitant about facing a wild and revolted city under the orders of a madman who wanted to build bridges across an entire sea. Romano woke up at noon, head pounding. He had no idea of what was going on until he opened his window and all his sudden pain made sense. Naples was burning. Maybe he should have gone out more. He would have seen corpses piling up in back allies and sacking for a week straight. Or maybe they were nightmares that never happened. It was hard to tell at this point.

Naples was one of the three largest cities of Europe at the time, and the richest. Far larger and far richer than Viena, than Madrid, than Venice and Rome. Yeah, it turns out that dismantling most law enforcement in favor of random farmers had not been the best idea. Maybe he should have known that.

He run out half dressed, desperate to do something, but not sure of what to do. The days were hell, he tried to do his best but nobody was on his side, because nobody was on anyone's side. It was chaos and fear and Romano himself was so confused and scared that he couldn't even breathe. All he knew is that it was the church who saved his ass, yet again. When anarchy was spiraling out of control it was a thin line of priest and clergy all that stood between the city and total disaster. They were the only authority left now that people no longer listened to Masaniello, or him, or the viceroy,or anyone, si he crawled next to the clergy and listened to their every word.

Romano found himself in a dark alley that night, breathless and dizzy, with cuts and burns across his face he didn't even remember getting. He couldn't tell if the sounds he heard were real or just in his head. He couldn't even say if the riots were that bad, or existed at all. Maybe it was the fear making him hallucinate. Maybe it was the guilt. Maybe it was the devil messing with his head, his punishment for being a traitor. He didn't know. He couldn't go on like this. He closed his eyes, desperate.

When you are so lost. When, in the chaos of a battle you can't even find your allies and everything is chaos, there is only one thing to do. Ritorno a seguro. Run to the flag and regroup there. Return to safety. Return to Spain.

He had no choice but to finally swallow his pride. It was bitter, as bitter as the look of disappointment he expected to see in Spain´s eyes, but he couldn't resist anymore. He was weak. He was unable to handle this. He needed Antonio´s help.

He run home and took plume and paper. he broke the plume several times while scribling the desperate lines.

 

_" Antonio, come back. Things are going to hell. I need you._

_Two Sicilies of the Hispanic Crown"_  

***

Madrid: 

 

Spain threw the letter to the trashcan and opened the window of his room to let the cool breeze in. His travel clothes felt heavy and far too hot, but if he was going to cross the mountains he had no choice.  King Philip, reclined on a chair by the door, fanned himself energetically with the envelope of Romano´s letter to fight the July heat.

 

“So, two Sicilies requested your immediate presence. Will you go?” the king asked, caressing his generous moustache. In front of him the leading nation of his crown, a green eyed man dressed in black from tip to toe, searched a drore for his riding gloves.

“What do you think?”

“It is understandable. I´m hurt, so I´m expecting all the vultures to come down on us at once.”

“We need to do something though.”

“I´m sure this isn't his fault. There has to be some other explanation.”

“That he is lazy and refuses to pull his weight, that's the explanation.” The king estated. Antonio sent a murderous glare his way. The king sighed and shook his head, deciding to keep his opinion to himself for now. “ So, he asks you to drop everything and go save him. Will you?”

“I wish I could, but I must go to other places first.” Antonio was sick. Sick as he didn't remember being since the civil wars in the middle ages. His head was spinning and every articulation hurt with a hollow throb that didn't let him sleep. Still, he knew better than to let that sow. He _was_ better.He had continued leading armies and attending his duties as usual. He kept his face fresh and his eyes had not lost an ounce of their fire.

He finally found the gloves. His knuckles hurt and cracked under the wild fever that he was running and he moved his fingers to slide them in.

“I am surprised, to be honest. I´d expected you to rush to his side the second he called for you.” Spain chuckled, a crooked gesture from a heart as light as it was bitter.

“That would do no good, My Lord. We both know what is really going on here. He is at the center of the world, there is a lot more going on here than what Romano knows. What happens in Naples never starts in Naples.” The king nodded in agreement. He udnerstood what most northern Europe did not. They didn't understand how it was to live by the center of the world. The Mediterranean, de place where the empires, the ideas and the religions of three entire continents came to collide, and Romano was blessed and cursed with being in the very center of each crash.

Antonio was asked often why he was so patient with Romano´s unstable behaviour and constant turmoil. Patient?. Spain wasn't “patient”. He amdired Romano´s ability to remain sane while every Empire around the sea fought for his land, his mind, inundated him with new ideas bribes, propaganda, lies, anything to turn him into a weapon against each other; and most often, against Spain, since he was the one in charge. Despite having half of the world pulling from his mind in every direction Romano had managed to remain sane. Spain wasn't “ patient”, he was impressed. Romano was unstable and volatile, sure, ad sometimes like this Antonio felt furious about it, but Spain was a crossroad himself and he knew, he knew the pain and the madness it brought like central Europe never could. He understood the suffering and he knew that if it was him living in Romano´s position he would have lost his mind already.

 

“ I don’t know who's meddling the most this time, but I must find that out first or anything we try to do to stabilize it will be useless.” he explained to his king as he selected his weapons and hung them from his belt. “ My money's on Italy and his grandfather. I´ll start there”.  
  
“ Papal States promised he’d not interfere between Romano and you a century ago.” The human reminded him. Spain snorted.

“ yeah, and Bishop Filomarino wrote the letter we just received. Your Majesty, I’m not drunk enough to trust the words of a bishop, let alone those of a Pope.” The king smiled, amused.

“ You are a cynic.”

“I’m just...experienced.”

“Yes.  And a cynic.” the man insisted. Antonio chuckled. “ So, Italy and the Pope first, and I assume you will ask Austria to handle Holy Roman for you. When will you visit France?”

Spain´s cheeks heated up, but he was determined to ignore it.

“ I do not need to check on France. I know that he is involved for a fact, there is no point in checking.”

King Philip rose a brow.

“He is guilty, so you won´t go see him. That is an interesting logic.” the human pointed out, suspicious. Antonio was determined to convince himself that there was nothing suspicious in his behaviour, but his face was determined to show the opposite.

“France is not easily intimidated, Your Majesty. A visit won´t do anything unless we plan to start a full blown war with him.”  Spain focused on closing his travel cloak, determined to ignore the pregnant silence and the king´s intense stare. “Besides, going to Paris would take too long, considering the little advantages I´d get from it.”

“I disagree, Spain. I think he needs a serious spanking, he is getting to bold recently, especially after our recent problems.”

“I think that can wait.”

“What about Turkey?”

“He still has bruises more than enough to remember me, I´m sure a human diplomat would be enough to remind him to back down.”

“So, let me see if I understand your logic. You are not going to run to Romano, but you are going to visit only those enemies that happen to be on your way towards his house and ignore everyone else to save time.”

Antonio´s face flushed, guilt painted all over his face. He tried to mumble some pretext but, for once, he couldn't think of any. The king smiled to his nation, fondly. It was strange. Spain was his property, his servant to exploit just like the horses in his stable, and yet he was also a sweet young man, loyal and too noble to hide his feelings, even when he tried. It was a strange situation to be in. Philip IV found himself smiling fondly, a bit of sadness in his eyes.

“ You can’t say no to him, can you?” he commented softly. Antonio looked down. He didn't need to ask who “him” was. He considered making excuses, like how his presence in Two Sicilies was probably beneficial, but who was he kidding?

“We used to be very close when we were both kids, you know? He was my first friend; actual nonhuman friend. When I was growing up...It was a hard time, but Two Sicilies was always there.  That is a lot among nations.” He confessed in a sad whisper, his had in his hands. He looked so shy suddenly, so melancholic that it was hard to believe it was the strongest Empire on Earth what the king was looking at.

“ You mean during the middle ages?” The king asked, noticing how his Empire’s eyes softened impossibly and his voice got wrapped in warm melancholy.

“ Yeah. In those days we were together all the time. We followed each other everywhere. He helped me with the reconquest, I helped him to re-take Sicily and fight the African pirates. He helped me with-” Spain regretted starting that sentence; that was probably too personal, family business, how Romano would get furious each time he was hit by his father, how Antonio would pick a fight with anyone who dared poking fun at his little friend; how they taught each other that they were more than toys. Or so he liked to think. Now, after the last century...He wondered if he had made that friendship up in his head, like he seemed to have made every other one up “ It all changed with time though. When we grew older-Sometime in the fifteenth century he became more distant. I guess I'm just being nostalgic, but-”

“But he is still special to you, right.” Spain nodded sadly.

“Sometimes I wonder what happened. It was so sudden.”

“He became a teenager.” The king offered, as if Antonio was missing something obvious. “ You were older, and an Empire. Maybe he saw you as some mentors figure growing up and decided to rebel in his teens. Boys distance themselves from old mentors at that age, it is just the way of things.”

“Yeah... I guess you are right.” The nation answered softly. He felt pressure in his chest, but he didn’t want to dwell much on it. What good would that do? He felt his king´s eyes on him, instantly. He finished adjusting his hat and got ready to leave.  Antonio nodded and finished reading himself for the long ride. The air was thick, and the sudden burst of sweet lounging in his chest was not something he wanted to keep expanding on. He didn’t like the subject. It was best to let those things be. “ Call the Inquisition, Phillip. We need Madrid clear of Rome’s Spies as soon as possible.”

He knelt to kiss his king’s hand as a goodbye. The man patted his shoulder, in a gentle demand of his attention.

“Spain” The king started with a paternal voice, looking at the young nation in the eyes “ I understand how you feel, and I understand that you don’t want to attack Two Sicilies. I´m tryingto indulge you and assume that this is all a misunderstanding... But remember that at the end of the day youaremyservant, Spain, I own you. If my legacy is endangered I´ll order you to fight him, and _you will fight_ for me.” The warm melancholy abandoned the nation's eyes, substituted by something cold and guarded, all vulnerability retreating behind his green eyes “You are mine, and so is him. Don’t forget that for a second.”

 

“I won’t, your Majesty.”

“ You may leave now. Go with God, and keep your weapons close.”

Spain finished his bow and left the room, pulling his hat’s brim lower into his eyes and crossing the cold stone of the corridors towards the patio of Arms, where his horse awaited, held by a human servant.

***

_"Dear Kingdom of Two Sicilies and of the Hispanic Crown:_

 

_I  have some business to take care of, but I will head to your land as soon as I can. It will probably take me four or five days. Stay safe until then._

_Hugs_

_Spain of the Hispanic Crown."_

_***_

 

“ You need to get rid of Marco.” Lovino screamed, shaking the human by the collar of his shirt. He was not going to let the human dodge this conversation anymore. He had tried to reason with him for as long as his short temper allowed him, but the situation was desperate now. The screams of death to Masaniello filled the air of the market square and made their way to Romano´s ears. This was dangerous. This was beyond dangerous! He was not allowing this to last one more day.

“You are out of your mind.” The human retorted, yelling as loud as Romano was and trying to prey his clothes out of Romano´s hands “He is my best friend!”

”He has a reputation! It is rubbing on to you.”

“Those are all lies. My enemies made it up!”

“I do not care!” The nation screamed, slamming the human against the wall. “I don’t care what they are! Marco is-”

“ He is my friend!”

“He is a fag!”

“ He had no choice! He needed the money back then! He has not allowed a man to touch him since he is with us! He-”

“It is never a choice dammit!”

“I haven´t touch him, I am not a damn sodom-”

“I don´t care! The truth doesn't matter anymore! People is talking, you need to send him away!” The human roared and pushed Romano, freeing himself at least, eyes glassy and unfocused. His voice shook and broke, here pitching high in a broken squeak, there dropping down to a growl or a desperate whisper.

“They have tried to kill me, twice! I can´t- I can´t sleep, I can't eat, I only see shadows, and he has been there for me!  You don't understand it, because you aren't even human! Do you have any idea of what that means? Do you have any idea of what it means to have someone you can trust in the middle of all this madness? Do you know what you are asking from me?”

Lovino had to bite his tongue. If he knew what he was asking for? If he knew how it felt to have a partner, a loved one, someone you would trust with your life in the middle of centuries of politics and betrayal, and have to give them up and send them away? He bit his tongue harder until it bleed, he felt as if God had used that human´s voice to spit in his face. He wanted to yell back to scream that he understood how much it meant to have your best friend, your rock, the person you wanted to have by your side every day of your life snatched away from your fingers. He knew how much it hurt every single second in which you had to fight alone in a jungle of traitors, without even having the chance to look across the room and see him nod, ‘I get you, it is hard’. That was all! That was all Lovino asked for, and he couldn't even have that, so he went on tiptoes and punched the human right across the face, blind with anger and pain, because if he could survive without Antonio, the stupid fisherman could survive without Marco, damn it all!

Genovese and the others run to pull them apart. Romano felt hands grab his arms and legs while he kicked.

 

“I DON'T CARE!” The nation snapped, his voice changing from menacing from hurt and desperate under the fury” Massi, God knows the truth, but here on Earth, it doesn’t matter for shit! You have a square full of people who wants you death! Marco isn't even your friend!”

The human´s face showed so much hurt at the concept that it cut through the nation´s anger. Lovino breathed deeply and slowly. Very deeply and very slowly. He gathered his courage the best he could, pressed the bridge of his nose. This was hard to tell to a man. It was going to be even harder for him to tell without getting emotional himself. But he could do it. He was a nation, dammit. He was centuries old.

“Look. He is not your friend. He is just a bastard. A f***ng greedy bastard.” He stated finally.”

“ Don’t you dare to talk about hi-”

“Look!, I get it, okay? He is your pal. It is hard to hear. But he doesn’t care. If he cared, he would have left you already. He would never have taken you down with him like this. If I-If I was in his place I would never, never risk hurting his reputation like that, no matter how much it hurt. Got it?.”

“You don’t know a word about him.”

“Maybe, but I know how love looks like” Lovino answered his young face contorting at the edge of tears “and that is not it."

"You can´t really expect him to go back to his previous life."

"I would do it. I’d rather die than hurt -someone I care for.”

Masaniello looked down. Silence and peace took the room and, for an instant, it seemed like everything would be solved. The human sighed, and looked at Romano. 

“He’d miss me.” Something snapped in Romano. He saw everything red. The next thing he knew he had found unknown strength in his thin arms, has freed himself from the humans holding him,  and was tackling the man against the wall a screaming at his face.

“ That is not an excuse! He is hurting you! He is going to get you killed! That is not an excuse for him to stay near! How could it ever be an excuse for all f*ck?”. The human wrestled Lovino off, the nation had a younger body, and was confused at his own words, bling of outrage and pain. He landed on the floor and glared fiercely, as if he wanted to burn the whole town down, himself included. Masaniello looked at him, hurt and cold, with glossy, detached eyes.

“The other nations are right. You are nothing but an ungrateful brat. You bite the hand that feeds you, you never have enough.” The man spat on the ground, eyes feverish and sickly.

The man turned and run upstairs to the balcony, to address the masses. Probably he’d complain about Romano. That would be so counter producing! But they coudn´t stop him. He didn´t listen to anyone anymore.

Romano was left on the floor with his teeth clenched and digging his fingers on the stone tiles. He would not cry. He refused to. But God! If he didn’t find another outlet soon he was going to scream his throat raw. His eyes were glassy as he looked at that glorious idiot dig his own grave!

Genomes and another scribe run to his side. They helped him up, offered him water, which he refused. Romano couldn't swallow his own spit, let alone water. He mopped to a chair and let himself drop there.

“ That sounded personal.” The priest dared to say after a while. The nation closed his eyes, and managed to put a mask of calmon his face.

“I am the nation. This is my destiny this bastard is playing with. Of course, it is personal for me.” He mumbled, and snorted at his own lie.

 

He dropped his head in his hands again, too tired to cry anymore.

 

"Spain will come soon. He will fix this."

"Or he will hang us all." The priest sighed, unhlepfuly. No one contradicted him. Romano had been sure that Spain would never do that, but the more things spiraled out of control, the most plausible that reaction seemed to everyone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The confussion of Romano about what actually happens in the riots comes from me finding contradictory sources about how bad it really was. According to Spanish and English sources the city was practically on fire for three days, but those are not too neutral and Italian books are a bit skeptical about the actual magnitude of the mess, so I made Romano confussed about the truth as well. All he knows is that there were deads and riots, if some deads or mountains of them, I/he isn´t sure.  
> *Antonio mentions the inquisition because, contrary to popular image, the inquisition was more of a secret police FBI/KGB style serving the king than an actualy religious organization. It responded directly to the king of Spain, not to the Pope. One of its main roles was precisely to keep the Pope´s influence in check.  
> * By "king Philip" I mean Philip IV.  
> *Marco Vitale existed and rumours accused Masaniello of sleeping with him, but the part in which I suggest that he used to sleep with men for money is made up by me.  
> -Do you want me to show Spain´s "diplomatic visits" to Rome and Italy?

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcome.  
> Beta: unreadable0 (thanks!)


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